The back of my brain tickled at having the time to do a load of laundry and dishes between the children’s taxi deliveries and pickups, but I ignored it. I clinked the stack of plates like some parody of a functional housewife as my phone hummed a familiar melody and I realized my crime. It finally happened. After years of the middle child teasing me for almosts…
I forgot a child. I was blissfully checking things off my to-do list while one of the children stood on a school sidewalk looking for me.
Add “my mom forgot me” to that child’s complaints for her future therapist.
At least it wasn’t the middle child.